


Delicious Soup

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Wonder(ful) Years Verse [9]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Domesticity, M/M, Schmoop, Sickfic, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their senior year at Harvard, and Peter makes chicken soup for Neal and cares for him through a bad bout of pneumonia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicious Soup

Peter looked at the pile of raw chicken and shuddered. The butcher had given him a hard time about cutting it into eighths until he said he wanted to make soup for his sick friend. The man asked if she was pretty. Peter crossed his fingers and simply said, “very.”

His mom told him that cleaning the chicken was the worst part – to make sure there were no feathers left on it. Peter examined each piece minutely and briefly thought about going vegetarian. No feathers, not a lot of blood or other stuff either. He washed and salted each piece and put it in the big pasta pot that Neal had picked up at a garage sale a few months ago.

Not that they ever made that much pasta, but it doubled as a punch bowl and ice bucket.

The carrots and onions went into the pot, too. The celery was strange – he had to buy a spool of white cotton thread to bind up the leafy heads. Mom told him not to add dill or garlic because Neal was sick and that would make the soup too harsh – which was fine. Peter wasn’t a fan of dill anyway. He salted the water and turned the heat on. Nothing more to do until everything started to boil.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Peter pulled out his Advanced Accounting homework and tried to focus. This was the last assignment before finals and he needed to ace the class. Not that there was any danger of losing his scholarship at this point, since he had a 4.0 average – but he wanted to keep that up. His professors were confident that he’d be accepted to the Business School for his MBA, but Peter didn’t quite share that confidence. And there was no reason to count his chickens just yet.

Thinking of chickens, Peter went to check on the soup. It was just beginning to simmer and there was _stuff_ floating on top. The instructions from his mother warned him about this, and he skimmed it off.

The steam from the boiling pot condensed on the cold glass of the kitchen windows and was beginning to smell good. He covered the pot, turned down the heat and let it cook. Mom said it needed to go for at least ninety minutes before the “magic” started.

He settled back at the table and the homework, finally losing himself in the numbers until the timer went off. But the timer wasn’t for the soup; it was time to get Neal to take his medicine.

Their bedroom was dark and a little too warm for his comfort, but not for Neal. Peter put down a dish of yoghurt and a glass of water next to the bottle of antibiotics. 

The bedside lamp was still on, it seemed like Neal had been trying to study before falling asleep. He looked terrible, his skin whitish-gray, huge circles under his eyes, sweaty, greasy hair going everywhere. Peter stood over Neal, hating to wake him, but then Neal started to cough; first a wheeze, then a hard, wracking cough which didn’t stop. Neal curled up helplessly against the spasms. Peter sat down, lifted Neal up and held him until the coughing stopped. He wiped away the mucus that was pouring from his mouth and nose.

Neal moaned, incapable of doing anything else. “Sorry.”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry about, snot monkey.”

Neal let out something like a laugh, and leaned his head against Peter’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

Peter let him cuddle and pressed a kiss against his forehead. Still too warm. “Come on, time for me to play Nurse. You’ve got medicine to take.”

“Bathroom, first.”

“Can you hold on until the bathroom warms up? It’s pretty cold in there and I’ll go turn the heater on.”

“Yeah – I guess. Don’t want my pee to freeze.”

Peter smiled. “Just don’t move.” He propped Neal against the pillows, made sure he was covered, and ran to the bathroom and flicked the heater on. Next time, he’d have to remember to do that before giving Neal his medication.

Neal was beginning to hack again and Peter held him, rubbing his back until it stopped.

“Thanks. Again.”

“Come on, I think the bathroom’s warm enough.” He helped Neal up and into the bathroom, standing just outside the closed door. It seemed to take a while and he called out. “You okay?”

The door opened and Neal came out, looking a little less like death on a stick, and more like death warmed over. He had washed up, combed his hair and brushed his teeth. Though he probably should have waited until taking the cough medicine before doing the last. Peter steered him over to old wing chair. “You should sit up for a bit – the doctor said that staying prone, flat on your back isn’t good.”

Neal looked like he was about to drift off again. “Mmmm, okay.”

“Buddy – you should stay awake for a little while. You have to take your medication.”

Neal’s head dropped against the side of the chair, his eyes closed. Peter sighed, Neal would probably be better off in the hospital, but he didn’t want to go. Peter didn’t quite understand the aversion he had to doctors – had he gone to the infirmary when he first started coughing, this probably wouldn’t have become pneumonia.

He changed the sheets, made sure the pillows were plumped and in a moment of inspiration, went into the living room and grabbed a cushion from their couch. It would give Neal extra elevation, keep the mucus down. He folded down the sheets and blankets, so Neal could get back into bed as soon as he wanted to. Peter finished straightening up, emptying the wastebasket, opening a fresh box of tissues. Time to get the cough medicine and antibiotics into Neal.

Peter retrieved the water, the yoghurt and the pills. He shook out one; the capsules were huge – his dad would have called them “horse pills” and he hoped that Neal would be able to swallow it.

“Come on, buddy, wake up.”

“Nhhgggg.”

“Neal, come on.” His tone was sharp out of necessity but he stroked Neal’s forehead with a gentle hand. The fever was still there.

“Wha?”

“Take your pills and some food.”

Neal opened his mouth like a baby bird and Peter popped the pill in, following it with the water. Neal swallowed – clearly in discomfort.

“Could those things be any bigger?”

Peter put the glass down, exchanging it for the yoghurt. Neal turned his face away in disgust. “Just a few mouthfuls. You’ll have some serious stomach problems if you don’t.”

Neal acquiesced and Peter made him eat several spoonfuls. “You’ll need to have your cough medicine now.”

“I’m really going to barf, then. That stuff tastes like rotting meat.”

Peter had to agree. It smelled vile, and if Neal – with his congestion – could taste it, it had to horrendous. But he took the dosage without any fuss.

“I smell something – are you cooking?” Neal looked at him with suspicion. “How come you’re cooking when I can’t eat? That’s not fair.”

Peter hoped he wasn’t blushing. “It’s for you. I’m making you chicken soup. It’s mom’s recipe.”

Neal blinked. “You’re making me soup – from scratch?”

Peter just nodded.

Neal looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Thank you.” The words were a whisper.

“Hey – it may be awful. I’ve never made it before.”

Neal leaned against him. “It will be the best soup ever. You’re making me delicious soup.”

__

FIN


End file.
